


A Half-Trained Mule

by OldToadWoman



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 10:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18569788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldToadWoman/pseuds/OldToadWoman
Summary: Written after episode 2 of Season 8, but before episode 3, a story about the least-likely people surviving (but everybody else dies).





	A Half-Trained Mule

**Author's Note:**

>   
> "If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention."
> 
> ―Ramsay Snow, _Game of Thrones_ , Season 3, Episode 6, "The Climb"

"Make sure they're all dead before you light the fire." Sandor limped backward away from Edd's torch. 

Edd rolled the eye that wasn't swollen shut. The Hound had shown no such concern for the safety of others when he'd been swinging his sword around earlier. Edd had taken a solid elbow to the head when he got too close to the man whose only clear distinction between friend and foe was _me_ and _everyone who isn't me_.

The corpses were stacked on what little wood they could spare and sprinkled with more saltpeter than Edd was entirely comfortable with, but it was more important that the fire burned hot and quick before the dead rose.

Ser Beric shuffled wearily around the pyre, examing bodies as he went.

"We've already checked them all," Sam said, voice quavering from either fear or grief. "Light it quickly."

Edd approached with the torch, but Ser Beric waved him off. "One moment."

"They could rise at any moment," Edd said.

"Who matters most?" Beric asked. When no one answered, he turned to Bran. "Which one matters most?"

"I can see the past and the present," Bran said impassively. "The future… shifts."

"What are you on about?" Sandor asked. "Go on, light it, already." He sounded brave now, but he was several paces further away.

Beric blocked Edd's path, yet again. "Quickly. Which one? Sansa? Arya? Jaime? Brienne? Jon? Daenerys?"

Sam figured out the question before Edd did. "Jon," Sam said firmly. "Raise Jon. We need someone who can ride a dragon."

"We've only got one bloody dragon left," Sandor spat. "You think it even matters now? Fat lot of good the other two did us."

Bran tilted his head. He smiled in that strange way that gave Edd chills. "A dragon rider isn't the problem. What we need is hope. The Night King is death. We need the promise of life."

"Be a fucking poet," Beric muttered turning his back on the Three-Eyed Raven. "It's my decision then."

"Hurry," Tormund urged.

Theon stepped forward with another torch but waited for Bran's word.

There was a shriek from the pyre and Edd lit it up without waiting for orders as bodies began to squirm to life. They didn't all awaken at once. Varys tried to crawl his way out from under Melisandre whose eyes had yet to open. The Red Woman had arrived at Winterfell just in time to die and she seemed to be tardy rising as well.

"This one," Beric announced and Edd was never sure if his decision was based on some unknown priority or simple proximity. Perhaps he picked her because she was so small. If he failed, she'd be the easiest wight to fight. He struggled to pull the body free one-handed, his left arm curled at his side from an unseen injury.

It was Sandor who rushed forward even as the saltpeter began to crackle and pop and together they pulled the girl's body free.

"Make sure you chuck my body on top," Beric said with a nod at the pyre. "Though I'd appreciate it if you checked that I was dead first."

He knelt down and kissed the corpse. It didn't make the top ten disgusting things Edd had seen in his life, but it was solidly in the top twenty. The tangle of burning, screaming, writhing bodies of recent friends was much higher on his list.

Ser Beric collapsed, his sword falling into the nearby fire, the handle protruding only slightly. 

Lyanna Mormont gasped to life and immediately began choking on the smoke. 

She sat up.

Her eyes were brown.

"All hail, the Queen in the North," Edd said with no enthusiasm. They were down to fewer than a thousand men and a single riderless dragon. They were fucking doomed.

The other dead were succumbing to the flames but the thing that had once been Arya Stark was quicker than most and pulled itself free. It lunged at Edd.

A flaming sword whirled through the air, took its head off, and then clanged to the ground when Lyanna lost her grip and dropped it. The sword's flame died instantly.

"All hail, the Queen in the North," Edd whispered, a little less sarcastically this time, kicking the wight's head back into the fire.

The Little Bear picked the sword back up, bracing to lift the heavy weapon. She frowned at it quizzically and the flame reignited.

In the fire, the Red Woman seemed to smile as the fire tightened the muscles of her face.

Sandor shrugged. "She'll do." He raised his own battered sword and shouted, "All hail, Queen of the Seven Fucking Kingdoms!"

Bran smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> "There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him."  
> —Melisandre, _A Clash of Kings_ , Chapter 10, Davos I
> 
> "Prophecy is like a half-trained mule. It looks as though it might be useful, but the moment you trust in it, it kicks you in the head."  
> —Tyrion Lannister, _A Dance with Dragons_ , Chapter 40, Tyrion IX
> 
> * * *
> 
> Yes, I fiddled with the word count on purpose to get it at exactly 777 words. :-)
> 
> I'm over on [Dreamwidth](https://oldtoadwoman.dreamwidth.org) if you want to pop in and say "Hi" or exchange improbable theories.


End file.
